Wet April has shown us the prettiest May,
we view more lovely flowers long showers bring,
I see the contrast stark--like night and day--
the irony of my cancer’s lovely spring.
Invisible and insidious little cells,
the war within that’s not so beautiful,
no roses there, no canterbury bells,
I pray the beauty of a miracle.
Still at a deeper level, war, and goal,
there is no spring to greet, no illness grieve,
only the hope and glory of my soul:
“Blest those who do not see and yet believe.”
As sweet is lovely spring, its flowers’ allure,
Your spring of heaven is, Lord, much lovelier.
by Pete Voelz 6/21/15
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